Cynthia Weiner

“In her Vanderbilt dorm room, trying to fall asleep at night, she’d gotten unexpected comfort from taking mental walks through Flanagan’s, corner to corner, over to the jukebox, down the hall to the restrooms. In these walks she was the only person there, moving freely through the space, cataloging the bar’s brass footrail, the Marilyn poster, the Houdini photograph, the specific taupe of the fireplace brick. But now she saw that it was just a bar, filled with people she didn’t know—she guessed the regulars had been deterred by the gawkers and tourists. Wood, brick, bone, flesh. Random shoes against the footrail, people hollering for drinks. It was never really hers, and it would carry on fine without her.”
― Cynthia Weiner, A Gorgeous Excitement